


Life + Art + Salzburg + Deception

by holbytlanna



Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Bombs, Character Study, Creepy Murdoc, Gen, James MacGyver's A+ parenting, Mystery, Sort Of, i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-25 18:53:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30093555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holbytlanna/pseuds/holbytlanna
Summary: A bomb is set to go off in Salzburg. Two men are there, and neither of their missions are immediately clear
Comments: 6
Kudos: 8





	Life + Art + Salzburg + Deception

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for my Mystery Fiction class final with different character names. Which means it probably won’t be a mystery to you folks at all. It was heavy on ambiguity when the names were different, but because we know Murdoc and Mac so well, it won’t be ambiguous at all to us. 
> 
> But hopefully this is still of some mild interest to y’all. Maybe as a character study, of sorts.
> 
> As always, I appreciate any and all comments, concerns, questions, etc. :)

The man calling himself Murdoc walks the streets of Salzburg, breathing in the air. So near to the Alps, there is a particular smell that the air has. A crispness that smells almost like rain, but not quite. Like it could rain at any time, despite the clear blue sky above. The wind blows cold around him. It feels fresh and clean and new, which is ironic given that the mountains themselves were so old. 

The buildings around Murdoc are old as well. In the Aldstadt, old town, the Baroque-style buildings date from the 17th century. Old monasteries with stunning spires and graceful arches dominate the area. Architecture had always been of mild interest to him. Not as fascinating as art. Classic art, like paintings and sculpture, have interested Murdoc ever since he was a boy. The idea that one person could create something of such great power and depth, to stir the very soul, well that was simply awe-inspiring in a way that grand cathedrals never had been, to him. Oh, they were beautiful, and he could appreciate that. And many hands collaborating to build something lasting and striking as some of these monasteries was a feat to be admired. But Michelangelo’s “David” was the vision and execution of one man. “Starry Night” was one man’s dream brought to life in paints. 

One individual has within them the potential to do things just as marvelous as those most famous artists. And that is the beauty of life, he supposes. It’s a fragile thing, human life, but if you could make someone else feel something through your work, then it isn’t in vain after all. 

The city around Murdoc is full of life. Pulsing, thrumming, babbling just like the River Salzach. He walks along the banks, taking a moment to close his eyes and just listen. 

A woman laughing nearby, skipping with the little hand of her daughter held tight in a protective grip. 

The river running by, with ducks fighting for attention and bread. 

Three young men playing frisbee and laughing when one of them misses his catch, shouting playfully at one another in German. 

Cars, crosswalks, the thrum of city life. Even in the oldest parts of town, modernity had reached its way in and taken hold.

A couple talking in hushed tones. If his eyes were open, he could read their lips to more easily understand what they are saying, but it isn’t important. They seem happy enough.

All around him, there is life. That’s what Murdoc likes the most about these old European cities. They are just so different from Los Angeles. There is hustle, there is bustle, but there doesn’t seem to be the same pressure to go, go, go. There is time, there is freedom to just  _ be _ . To be still and settled and lay roots down in a place where the roots stretch so far into the past that the world might never forget. And each person in this town is a cosmos within themselves, with untold wonders hidden in their brains, in their souls. Sometimes it staggers him to think of it, and he wonders if other people saw the world the way he did, maybe they would act a little differently.

But, like all things must, Murdoc’s musing comes to an end. He did come all this way from LA for a reason, and it wasn’t vacation, more’s the pity. He has a job to do, and a team of people who are very worried about him. He walks onward along the road with a redoubled pace, smiling at the skipping woman and her giggling daughter as he passes. 

——————

Bombs are pretty tricky things.

The young man, Mac, blows a wayward lock of too-long blond hair out of his eyes, momentarily distracting himself by wishing he had gotten a haircut before travelling. But he quickly turns his attention away from his hair and back to the blinking device before him. 

It’s a strategic location. The building the bomb is in is pretty significant, if only because of its age and prominence in the city of Salzburg. A beautiful city, really. Much too beautiful for such a tragedy, but c’est la vie. Some of the most beautiful places that Mac had been to he had later seen ravaged by explosives and gunfire. 

Not his gunfire, he doesn’t carry a gun on him. He was always more comfortable with his fingers in the mechanisms of bombs than on the trigger of a gun. He’s a bit weird that way.

Setting bombs, disarming them. Both are difficult. The best bomb-makers know that they have to make their bombs difficult to disarm, and easy to set off. Not too easy, because timing is everything, but if the bomb doesn’t go off when it’s supposed to, then what’s the point? That would just be a waste of perfectly good C4.

And Mac has had years of experience with bombs. Disarming, creating, detonating, disposing. Kaboom. 

Not everybody has the stomach for the job he does. It’s a difficult one, but it pays the bills. 

He’s the best at what he does.

As Mac works, pausing periodically to brush hair out of his eyes with increasing frustration, he can’t help but think back to other bombs he’s worked on. Some had been more complex than this one, others simpler. He had spent a long time learning the craft, but after his mentor was killed, Mac was on his own. Fortunately, he had been a good student.

His father had once told him that if you can’t do a thing right, don’t bother doing it at all. That was probably why he had left so early in Mac’s life. He couldn’t raise a child right, so he didn’t bother half-assing it. That lesson (along with the painful and somewhat-traumatic illustration) had stuck with Mac all these years. He knows it isn’t true anymore. Sometimes it is best to give up, but something is usually better than nothing.

This bomb before him is more than just ‘something.’ It’s complex, well-placed, and on a timer with no margin for error. He has need of all his skills, of everything he has picked up over the years of working with bombs. 

He is the best at what he does, and hopefully today it will be enough.

—————

Their agent is on foreign soil, operating alone and carrying out his mission to save hundreds of lives. He normally wouldn’t be alone, but his usual mission partner is laid up with a broken leg. So the Phoenix Foundation had sent out their best man alone.

Their techie, Riley, had uncovered somehow (best not to ask her how she does things, because you’ll get a much longer explanation than you wanted) a contract for a bombing. The date was set, and so was the place, and a large sum of money was paid to someone going by the letter “M” to make sure the threat got carried out. In fact, money had been wired to this “M” on several occasions, each one preceding a deadly attack somewhere in the world. This was the first time they were able to catch “M” before the attack was carried out.

The agent they sent out to meet the problem is the best of the best. He had been trained for bomb disposal since he was just barely out of college. If anyone could do something about the bomb threat, it would be him.

But the next thing the agency hears out of Salzburg is not a “mission accomplished.” In fact, they have been radio-silent for the past half hour or so, which is unnerving in and of itself. It’s a news report that they hear. International coverage. The bomb had gone off. Their agent had failed.

—————

The man calling himself Murdoc walks slowly now, somberly, though the streets of Salzburg, breathing in the air once more. The clean, rain-like smell has gone, replaced by plaster dust, ash and smoke. Panic. The life thrumming through the city has grown frantic and afraid, face-to-face with mortality and the fact that their city had lost one of the structures they had thought to be a permanent fixture simply because it had stood for so long. 

No one around him laughed now. No one skipped, no one smiled. The bomb had gone off. There were tears and sirens and wailing. And as the dust settles, coating Murdoc’s dark hair and black jacket white as if he had walked through snow, he can see polizei apprehending someone. 

A tall man — not as tall as Murdoc, and a few years younger — with hair that is blond hidden underneath the coating of dust, and a handsome, guileless face, is being arrested in front of the ruined structure. His slight frame is slammed against one of the cars and handcuffs are forced around his wrists. The polizisten are not gentle. Why should they be gentle with a man whom they had caught blowing up a building?

The young man doesn’t say anything, and doesn't put up a fight. He is outnumbered, certainly outgunned, and Murdoc can see in the set of his jaw and slump of his shoulders that the man — he really is young, far too young to be playing with bombs for a living — knows that resisting arrest would be pointless. 

And to think, just a half hour ago, Murdoc had been musing over the fragility of human life, and how every person had the ability to make others feel something. The people nearby are scared. Art could make people afraid, he supposes. As long as they feel  _ something _ , it worked.

And it had indeed worked. Murdoc smiles, seeing the blond man get pushed into the black Polizeiwagen and driven away. Justice is swift. Blind, too. He grins wider when he sees the news cameras. International coverage. 

The team of agents back home will undoubtedly be seeing this. 

They would ensure justice was served. Riley the hacker would be able to put the offender behind bars with only a few keystrokes. Director Webber’s legendary fury would make sure that he stayed there for life. They have to clear America’s good name, of course. Make sure the whole world knows exactly who had set the bomb.

But by the time the world realizes who had really set the bomb, and who had merely been trying to disarm it, young agent MacGyver would have lost everything, and the man calling himself Murdoc would be long gone. 


End file.
